The Cost of War
by Cyllwen
Summary: An After the War, Au story, crossover. Who would have thought civilian life could be just as terrifying as the war?
1. Chapter 1

This was never something I was going to write let alone publish. I got stuck watching the Andy Griff show with my mother a while back and my muse just wouldn't let it go. Its going to be AU and at times OC. Hogan, Newkirk and Carter find that civilian life isn't always easy, wars are hard to leave behind and trouble can find you any place and any time. All mistakes are my own as my beta has been working far too much to be of use, God love her. Please be kind. Most of my medical knowledge has been picked up from experience and google. I own nothing. Hope you like.

Cyllwen

**The Cost of War:Part One**

_"Good night, then - sleep to gather strength for the morning. _

_For the morning will come. Brightly will it shine on the brave and true, _

_kindly on all who suffer for the cause, glorious upon the tombs of heroes. _

_Thus will shine the dawn."_  
British Prime Minister Winston Churchill to the people of France - October 21, 1940

()

It had been less than a month since he parted ways with Carter and Newkirk at the Washington Air Port. Still he couldn't help but feel a little worried about the duo and the poor town they were in. Andrew had somehow convinced the Briton to come to his home town of Mayberry with him. It was most likely due to the fact that Peter had been on some pretty heavy pain killers at the time.

So when his superiors at the Pentagon ordered him to take a vacation he grabbed the car and headed to North Carolina. He told himself that he wanted to see how much of the town Carter had destroyed while Newkirk was less than able to stop him. However he knew that the truth was that he missed his team and they were the only two on the same continent as he was. Also someone had to make sure that Peter had been resting. A bullet wound and a broken shoulder was nothing to sneeze at, especially with the complication of the fever he had developed during recovery. Carter may have tied him to his bed at this point.

()

Carter shifted in his skin. Everyone was still greeting him with fond smiles and a 'Glad you made it home alright'. Various relatives attempted to get him up to speed on gossip they'd told him three or four times since he arrived home. He had long since run out of good will for these exchanges. His mind kept drifting back to the house. Newkirk hadn't come with him to the evening prayer service. It was hard enough for the Englishman to sit through even the morning service. Back spasms and pews made for an un-pretty combination. The sheer amount of damage the gunshot wound had done to his shoulder was only now really beginning to heal. The hole may have been long gone but the bones were just now at the point they were healed. The fever had set his recovery back.

It had been less than a month since they arrived in Mayberry. Carter was glad to be home and Newkirk was glad not to have to recover in a military hospital. Although already Andrew could see that Peter was beginning to succumb to complete and utter nervous boredom. His still weakened frame couldn't keep up with his want to wander and racing mind.

He knew that Newkirk felt out of place here but there hadn't been anywhere else for him to go. He needed to stay with someone till he recovered. His mother had died a few years back and he didn't have a good relationship with his father. Staying in the hospital would have driven him (and quite a few doctors) completely mad. Deep down Carter was glad he didn't have to face this suddenly odd and unsettling civilian world by himself.

"Andrew?" Barney Fife, a second or third cousin as well as Mayberry's deputy, had been talking to him when he had zoned out. "Are you alright?"

"Oh sorry boy. I'm not real awake tonight." He apologized, more of a reflex than anything else.

Barney nodded as if he understood. "No harm done. I know these past few weeks have been busy for you. I saw you took back over the store this week. Is your friend helping you?"

"Peter?" Carter smiled at the thought and shook his head. "He's still supposed to be resting. Col. Hogan will have my head if I let him help out." Peter didn't like to admit it but a walk around the town could tire him out. "Though he's offered." He glanced at his watch. "Well I'd best be getting home."

Barney didn't get the hint. He rambled on for a while until Carter just walked away. The house was close so he hadn't brought the car and it was unusually warm. Actually it wasn't warm for Mayberry but it would have been if he was still in Germany. The distance was less that the span of the Stalag and even at an idyllic pace his feet ate up the distance.

()

The night sky stretched on forever, opening up over mountains and forests of deep green trees. A stranger to Mayberry sat on the Carters' front porch in a cloud of cigarette smoke, an oil lantern setting on the table in front of him.

"Hello there." Sheriff Andy Taylor called from the sidewalk that lead up to the porch. "Would either Mrs. Carter or Andrew happen to be home?" He stopped at the top step. "I brought by the foyer table that Mama Carter ordered."

He had met the man for a few moments that Sat. He was a tall dark Englishman, pleasant enough, by the name of Peter Newkirk. He had served with Andrew Carter during the recently ended WW2.

"Nice to see you again Sheriff. Carter and 'is Mum are down at the evening prayer service." He had a cockney accent and a soft smile that reminded him of a cat that got the cream. "Andrew probably forgot you were coming." He put his cigarette out in the ash tray and stood. "I know the spot that Mum 'as been saving for it. I'll 'elp you get it inside."

"Much obliged though it will be plenty of help if you just get the door and show me where it goes. Mama would have my head if you strained that shoulder of yours."

Newkirk glanced at the offending limb. He had taken a bullet in the last few days of the war which had broken his right shoulder (in a few places). It was healed enough to take it out of the sling but it wasn't anywhere near full strength. "Right then, I'll just go get the door."

A few minutes later and a few near disasters involving Andy's back and they were once again on the front porch. Newkirk brought out a pot of tea and few slices of Mama Carter's famous chocolate cake. He also turned on the electric porch light and blew out the lantern.

"You didn't go along with Andrew and Mama to the evening service?" Andy asked after several minutes of comfortable silence and cake.

"I'm afraid the Carters are a great deal more religious than I am." He held himself stiffly due to both his injury and years of military service. "Though I probably would 'ave gone for Andrew's sake but I can't take the pews yet. They are very bad for my back."

"Yes well church pews defiantly aren't the most comfortable seats in the world." He took a tentative sip of the golden liquid. He was usually more a coffee person. Aunt Bee loved her tea but she drank some odd flowery kind that didn't sit real well with him. "This is good."

"One of the few kinds of tea Andrew will drink. I brought quite a bit with." Newkirk was already on his second cup. "'e didn't give me much of a choice about coming to the States with 'im and there was no way I was going without some tea."

"I hope you don't think I'm prying but Barney and I were wondering just how an Air force Sgt and a RAF Corporal ended up serving together. We're you attached to the same base?"

Newkirk took another sip of tea. "Luftwaffe Mannschaftsstamm und –straflager ,dreizehn, in der Nähe von Düsseldorf" The carefully pronounced German dropped his voice to almost a purr. At the confused looked on Andy's face he translated. "Air Force crew and master-criminal camp, thirteen, near Dusseldorf. Affectionately called LuftStalag Thirteen."

Andy almost dropped his tea. "A prison camp? Andrew was in a prison camp? When?"

Newkirk got a thoughtful look on his face. "I think 'e got there in 42. I ain't exactly sure, the years 'ave blurred toget'er. I got there the end of 39 mind you."

Andy was shocked. "Mama never said anything about this."

"That's cause neither of us 'ave slipped up and told 'er yet." The Englishman seemed to find it funny. He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling but nothing could hide the twinkle in his eye. "Sorry. 'owever the look on your face…" He chuckled slightly.

"I find it odd that Andrew wouldn't have told us." Andy tried to wrap his brain around the fact.

"Now I don't think it was on purpose. I think just never occurred to 'im to tell 'er."

"Well, he's always been a bit on the scattered side." Andy shook his head. "At least he's back now. We were all getting worried about Mama." He glanced at his watch. "Well I best get going. I need to be home in time to tuck my boy in."

"Good Night Sheriff."

"Oh Mr. Newkirk?" He stopped before he stepped off the porch.

"Peter or even Newkirk. Please don't call me Mr. Newkirk."

"Well then Peter. Aunt Bee wondered if you and the Carters would come over for dinner tomorrow night."

He suddenly found himself on the other end of that smile. It still looked slightly evil but there was something in his eyes that softened it this time. "We'll be there."

()

Hogan walked up to the Carters' porch. There were no lights on in the house but a lone bulb on the porch sparkled with its inner light. His long stride took both of the green painted stairs at the same time. The long porch was cluttered with furniture, enough that it made reaching the door difficult. They were all made up of wicker and decade of white paint. A heavy tea set and a plate burdened with a half eaten piece of cake sat on a low coffee table. A dozing Englishman, almost unrecognizable in a blue button up and slacks, took up the porch swing.

The Colonel turned General shrugged off his leather jacket. The breeze that had been so God-given during the day had turned cold in the moonlit hours. He gently placed it over his...friend (for there was nothing else to call him).

The usually light sleeper didn't stir. Hogan eased himself into one of the numerous available seats and helped himself to some lukewarm tea and the rest of the piece of cake. Carter's mother was a very good baker.

He had yet to overcome his fascination/appreciation for food in general. Several of the people he worked with teased him that he was going to double his weight by Christmas. Hogan admitted that he was a few pounds heavier than his 'target' weight the doctors had set for him when he got back but couldn't bring himself to consider it a huge problem. He washed the cake down with most of the cup of tea.

Newkirk looked as if he had escaped that particular vice. He had filled out a little since their Stalag Thirteen days but was still a little of the thin side. It most likely had a lot to do with the fact he was still recovering. He had met Mama Carter for all of five minutes but had the feeling she was shoving food down Andrew and Peter's throats as fast as motherly possible.

The cake was gone far too quickly so he busied himself picking the crumbs off of the saucer that Peter had used as a plate. He suddenly felt very silly being there on the Carters' front porch.

"Guv'ner?" Something had brought the Englishman back to the land of the conscious and he looked very confused. No doubt he was trying to figure out why he was napping on the porch and why Hogan was sitting in Mayberry when he lived in Washington D.C.

"Rob." Hogan corrected. "Remember?"

Newkirk gingerly sat up. "Right. Rob."

"How have you been?"

"Sore." His gaze slid to the empty plate on the General's lap. "You ate my cake." He blinked sleepily at it.

Hogan laughed. "Sorry Peter." The more familiar first name still seemed just as odd to Hogan as it did to Newkirk. It almost resisted coming out of his mouth. "I was hungry."

"You came to Mayberry to eat my cake?" Apparently he had been fairly deeply asleep, and still wasn't completely awake.

"No. I was ordered to go on vacation. Thought I'd check on you and Carter."

"Oh." Peter was trying to wake up so he could process what exactly was going on. He shook his head slightly trying to clear it.

"You alright?"

"Of course guv...Rob." He corrected himself and stood, stretching gingerly and poorly disguising a wince. Hogan was polite enough to pretend not to notice.

"Let's take this party inside." The General stood and snatched up the tea set before Peter could even move towards it.

Peter ignored the gesture, fighting down a slow burn of resentment in his chest. He never liked having to have help, especially when he felt it was unnecessary. However for the guv'ner he would make an exception, like he always did. He led the way inside, through the darkened living room and into the kitchen. He flipped on the light to reveal a large space with a questionable color scheme.

"The sink is over there." He gestured towards it location before heading to the fridge. He pulled out the orange juice and set it on table. Then he grabbed two glasses from the cupboard by the icebox.

Hogan observed that he did most of this with one hand but with a speed and dexterity that most would find surprising, if they had never met Peter Newkirk.

"So how is Mayberry? He accepted a tumbler of juice.

"Boring. Very, very nice but very, very, very boring."

"I thought boring was good."

"Maybe for you guv but its driving me round the bend. Mama won't even let me 'elp with the mending. Carter says there is no reason for me to 'elp with the shop. I play a lot of chess with a man named Gomer or his cousin Goober."

Hogan winced internally. "I sit in an office telling other Generals just how stupid they are."

"Well at least one of us is 'aving fun."

()

Carter was surprised to see that Peter had already gone in for the night. It was only 9 o'clock. Peter never slept much when they were in Germany and that was a habit that followed him to the states. When he slept he slept for a long time but he didn't sleep often.

"Peter?" He called out into the darkness of the living room. The kitchen light was on but that didn't mean that Peter was in there. He shut the door hard enough that it made a noise that could be heard throughout the house.

"In the kitchen Andrew." Peter's voice traveled through the darkness without him yelling.

Carter turned on the light so that he wouldn't trip over any furniture. His mother had been rearranging things every few days. He was convinced it was to keep him on his toes.

"Peter..." He trailed off when he caught sight of General Hogan sitting at the kitchen table. "General!"

"Rob." Hogan chided with a sigh.

"Right. Boy is it good to see you." He hearty shook Hogan's hand.

Newkirk slid his untouched juice toward Carter and motioned for him to sit down.

()

End of Part One

"Let someone else get killed!"  
"Suppose everyone on our side felt that way?"  
"Well then I'd certainly be a damned fool to feel any other way, wouldn't I?"  
"Englishmen are dying for England, American's are dying for America, Germans are dying for Germany, Russians are dying for Russia. There are now fifty or sixty countries fighting in this war. Surely so many countries can all be worth dying for?"  
"Anything worth living for," said Nately, "is worth dying for."  
"And anything worth dying for," answered the old man, "is certainly worth living for."  
Joseph Heller  
Catch 22


	2. Chapter 2

I know the last chapter was nothing close to being exciting. This one starts into it but don't expect anything to explode yet. There is a little more explanation in to Newkirk's injury and some revealing of tensions but still mostly just settling into the story. I see I have some readers already but please if you like it review. It does my heart good.

p.s. Don't expect updates to come this quickly. I just had Part Two finished before I posted part one. Thanks to the lovely and talented Deana for your review. You guys should check out her stuff . Lots of good stories in several fandoms.

The Cost of War: Part Two

"From quiet homes and first beginning, Out to the undiscovered ends,

There's nothing worth the wear of winning,

But laughter and the love of friends."

Hilaire Belloc

()

_He wasn't remembering it right. It all seemed so clear but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with the way he recalled that night. _

_It had been dark, oh so dark and too cold for even the wildlife to be out. The kids were moving fast and skittish like deer. Nothing he could do seemed to calm them down so he and LeBeau just tried to keep up. The Frenchman was falling farther and farther behind. __There was a loud noise and then silence, too perfect to be natural. His right shoulder exploded in fire._

Newkirk pulled himself out of the dream as he had so many times before, grasping for air and gasping in pain. The bright sun shone through the window with idly bird song riding on its coat tales. The dream evaporated like mist. He relaxed as best he could, took a few deep breaths and leaned back massaging his aching shoulder.

"I was unaware that alarm clocks shook the entire bed now-a-days." Hogan, who had been forced to share the guest room with Peter, stared wide eyed at him. Hogan had never liked being awoken suddenly.

"Morning Guv." Newkirk greeted him wearily. He had forgotten that Hogan..Rob was visiting.

"What the hell was that?" Hogan demanded. He was not a morning person. Politeness would have to wait until lunch or at least for a cup of coffee.

"Honestly Rob?" He said the Christian name like it tasted funny."I'm not entirely sure." He never could remember what the dream was about entirely, though he had his suspicions.

"You never told us what happened the night of the evacuation." Hogan's voice turned thoughtful. "Lebeau doesn't remember anything at all about that night. He was in hysterics when we found you."

"**General! Peter! Time for breakfast!**" Mama Carter called up the stairs.

"Coming!" Peter shouted back, feeling for all the world like he was fifteen. And then to Hogan he said "We'll go for a walk after breakfast."

()

Peter excused himself from the table before the others were done eating and went outside to have a cigarette. The morning air fore-shadowed the heat of the day. Children walked past on their way to the school. The Carters lived only a block or two away from Mayberry Elementary.

"Good Morning Mr. Newkirk." One boy, Opie Taylor, stopped to greet him.

"Mr. Taylor." He greeted the child just as gravely and formally as the boy had him. "Not anticipating school today?"

Opie shook his head. "Got a math test. How could you tell?"

"You're gonna be late. Most kids wouldn't be dragging their 'eels." Peter took a long drag on his cigarette. Opie didn't move. "Well get going. Math isn't the end of the world but if your dad finds out you missed school you'll wish it was." The kid took off like a shot. Newkirk chuckled under his breath. The thought of what Hogan expected after breakfast sobered him quickly.

_They had all gotten split up during the evacuation. The Allies were coming and there were to many camps that the Germans had decided to eliminate rather than loose. No one believed that Klink would do such a thing but it was something that none of them wanted to chance. The camp scattered in all direction with Barracks Two going last. Hogan ended up with Kinch. Carter was with Olsen. Newkirk was with LeBeau and a few of the soldiers who were barely out of their teens._

_They weren't the only group that ran into a patrol but they were on of the only groups that ran into a patrol that shot first and asked questions later. They ran. Screams of fear and pain ran through the night but looking back it was silence that was the worst thing about that night. Lying in the dark under a dense group of bushes. LeBeau did his best to keep him quiet when all he wanted to do was scream. Never before had he been in that amount of pain. Never before had he been so frightened._

_Once the patrol had passed their roles reversed. It was all Peter could do to keep Louis from hyperventilating or passing out from the blood that covered Peter's back and side. The memories should have been hazy but he remembered it vividly up until the point that Hogan and Kinch had found them. Then the night faded into vapor and into the scattered images of the fever that almost claimed him even after they had gotten to England._

He breathed in the cold air of that night and breathed out cigarette smoke. "Krieg ist nie vorbei." He whispered in a low tone. War is never over. It would live on forever deep inside the people who fought in it and then deep inside their children. It lived in the dirt with the dead and in the sky on the wings of fighters. It lived in the cold of a Russian winter and the heat of the sun. It was as inseparable from then as breathing, as living itself. "Die Kosten für den Krieg ist etwas, was wir sind erst am Anfang, dafür zu bezahle."

"What do you mean by that?" Hogan's voice over his shoulder caused him to start. "'The cost of war is something we are only beginning to pay?'"

"Nothing guv'ner."

"Knock it off with the governor stuff." Hogan growled irritably.

"Its what you are." Peter bit back, taking the last usable drag from the cigarette and snuffing it out against the porch railing. "And I don't call anyone that lightly." He was spoiling for a fight. "This 'hole 'aving to call everyone by their first name is a bunch of rubbish. I'll call you Guv'ner, Colonel or even god forbid General if I so well please. It ridiculous that you call one person something for over three years and then all of the sudden 'ave to call them something else because its supposed to help you acclimate with society or some other rubbish." Hogan took a step back despite himself. Peter kept going. "Don't speak German it will scare people. Don't speak French it will confuse them. Do you really have to speak with an English accent? It might make it hard for others to understand you. They can all bloody well hang themselves for all I care." Once he opened his mouth it all poured out. Things that didn't even bother him all that much and things that bothered the hell out of him. He had to bite his tongue to keep from more hot words escaping. The truth was he wasn't angry at the General who used to be a Colonel. He was angry at all of it. The people going about their lives as if the war never happened. The people who couldn't seem to forget for a moment that the war had happened. The Doctors and people who followed him around telling him what to do and what not to do. This crazy need for everyone to go back to being 'normal'. He unclenched his teeth when he tasted blood. Suddenly he wasn't angry. He wasn't anything but bitterly tired.

Hogan was taken off guard by the tirade and even more so by the quiet 'Sorry guv'ner' that followed it. He stood there for a moment trying to sort it all out in his head and finally said "Nothing to be sorry about. Lets grab some coffee and go on that walk."

()

_"Die Kosten für den Krieg ist etwas, was wir sind erst am Anfang, dafür zu bezahle."_ Peter's earlier words echoed in Robert's mind as they walked the streets of Mayberry in silence. Newkirk seemed embarrassed as his earlier outburst.

/I_ts funny./_ Peter gave him an odd look when he started the conversation in German. /_I never realized how well we spoke German until I got back to the United States./_

_/Well, your French is still terrible./_

_/We weren't in France so I don't see a problem with that. So how exactly is civilian life treating you?/_

_/It would be fine if I could get rid of my shoulder and get Carter to believe I can walk a block without getting myself killed. The other stuff just came out while I was ranting./_

_/Is it that bad? The shoulder I mean?/_

_/I can move it but its weak and stiff./_

Suddenly Hogan didn't want to have this conversation. /_Look at us. We waited so long for the war to be over and now we don't know what to do with ourselves./ _

_/The Doctor doesn't expect it to get any better, or at least not much./ _As Peter spoke Hogan realized why he had given Peter the chance to not answer the question. He hadn't wanted to hear the answer. Perhaps it was because it no longer affected him like it would have at the camp. At the Stalag if one of them was off their game it put the rest of them in jeopardy. Now He felt slightly sick but it didn't affect him at all, not really. It was a startling realization.

Peter rolled his shoulder, flexing the muscles from shoulder to elbow to wrist to fingers. It was a theatrical motion, so very Newkirk. Then he reached into his pocket "You may want this back" and handed Hogan his wallet. "Thought you would 'ave noticed by now."

()

Peter stole his watch three times that afternoon, once replacing it with his own. Hogan's espionage muscles may have dulled but if anything Newkirk's seemed sharper. By the time they made it back to the Carters' for lunch Hogan had given up and told him to keep it: which had begun the game

of giving it back to the General when he wasn't looking. It was incredibly awkward, this business of 'hanging out' but Hogan thought he liked it.

"Its about time you two got home." Mama was knitting on the porch. "There are some sandwiches and pie on the kitchen table." She didn't even look up from what she was doing. "Be good boys and take lunch down to Andrew when you're done." Mama was a slender, silver haired woman in her early seventies. Her husband and her had several children. There was a twelve year and six month gap between Thomas the oldest (35) and Andrew the youngest(23). Peter liked her, though she had very little in common with his own mother. He had an aunt that was very much like Mama. He'd spent a lot of time with the woman since coming to the colony.

"Sure Mama." He paused to give her a kiss on the cheek. "Do you want any tea?"

She shook her head and laughed. "You Englishmen and your tea." Than she smiled. "I'm fine right now dear."

"Ma'am." Hogan just smiled at her on his way into the house.

"And for heaven's sake Peter!" She yelled after them. "Chew your food!"

Hogan soon found out what she meant. He had noticed while at the Stalag that even after they got extra food from London that several of the members of their barracks ate as if someone would steal the food from them at any moment. Kinch and Peter were among the worst of them. Barrette, the camp medic and self appointed councilor, told him once that you could tell who had spent the longest at the Dulag by how quickly they ate. Peter apparently had yet to break that habit. He inhaled his food. It wasn't that he was that hungry but that was how he was used to eating.

"You know that no one is going to take that from you right?" Hogan tried not to stare. He hadn't noticed this behavior at breakfast. Hogan himself was guilty of eating lots of food slowly, saving it. It seemed that Peter did the opposite. He didn't ask for seconds because that was so abnormal as far as he was concerned, he just ate fast. He was on his pie before Hogan was half-way done with his sandwich.

Peter swallowed the pie that was in his mouth. He colored slightly. "Can't seem to convince myself of that." He stopped to take a drink and ate noticeably slower after that.

()

Carter smiled at the sight of Hogan, Peter and, most importantly, lunch. Hogan carried the picnic basket and Peter busied himself with watching anyone who was nearby. The end of the war had done nothing to lessen the cockney's suspicious nature.

The bells on the jingled to announce their arrival. "Oh, Food!"

"Nice to see you too Andrew." Peter didn't quite managed to sound offended. He shook his head and took the basket from Hogan, placing it on the counter.

"Sorry." He didn't quite manage to sound apologetic. "I'm starving."

"You're always starving." Peter countered but with even less bite than before. He looked tired.

He disappeared for a few hours after dropping off lunch, leaving Hogan at the store with Carter. Andrew shrugged it off with a 'He does that." The store got busy soon after with kids coming home from school. Hogan helped keep the peace as best he could. Once the elementary kids went through, one red headed boy asking about Newkirk, the high schoolers started to arrive. Tyler Madin was on his way out when Peter came back. He was a nice likable kid that Andrew spent several minutes just talking to, he gave him a free pack of gum in addition to the coke that he bought. Peter passed him in the doorway.

"Andrew. Guvner." He greeted them both and placed two clark bars on the counter. "You need to watch that kid better." There was no real bite to the admonishment. He seemed a little distracted.

Andrew accepted and re-shelved the candy with an unsettled look. "Gomer actually win a game?" It was difficult to imagine considering Peter was the one who taught him how to play it and Gomer was incapable of strategy.

"What?" The tone of Peter's voice said much the same. "No. We were working on a car. Visitors want to get out of here as soon as possible. Gober had to go to Mt. Pilot to get a part so Gomer needed help."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Hole in the gas tank." He closed his eyes for a moment as if regretting before hand what he was about to say. "Looks like a bullet hole to me."

"No. No. No. No. No." Andrew began to chant. "No bullet holes. This is Mayberry, not Heidelberg, not Helden." The tone was surprisingly harsh for the normally up-beat young man but from the almost indecipherable look on Peter's face it was one he had heard before.

What surprised Hogan the most was when Peter took a step back, and gave up. "Right, silly me. I'll let you get back to work." He had been there for less than five minutes and then he was gone , for an intense, painful moment, wished to be back in Stalag 13. He watched Peter leave. If their conversation had been angry it would have been easy to deal with but never before had he heard those two have a conversation that seemed so bitterly tired.

"Carter?" He kept his voice easy.

"Yes General." While Peter insisted on his appointed title of Guvner he couldn't get Carter to stray past his military rank.

"What size charge should we use to take out a single car in a convoy?" Carter's face lit up and he went to open his mouth. "Andrew?"

Confused now. " Yes General?"

"What do you do when your best friend tells you the town mechanic is working on a car full of bullet holes?" He still didn't let the other man talk. "Especially when he's the expert on bullets." It was a long blow, he knew it, but it got a reaction.

"No offense Rob," When Peter said it, it sounded weird. When Carter said it, it sounded like a curse. " but you're not my CO anymore." He snapped his jaw shut after that surprised at when had come out of his mouth.

"None taken." Hogan winced at how angry he himself sounded. "I may not be your Colonel anymore Carter but I'm still your friend or at least I'd like to be." He didn't know if they were friends back at the Stalag. "I know you wanted, really thought that when the war was over all the bad stuff would go away." Of course he had, he was Carter. "It didn't work that way." Sudden it hit him like a brick exactly what Peter was talking to himself about. "The war is over: its cost is something we are only just beginning to pay. None of us have a choice."

"All he sees is the bad stuff, the evil in people."

"Its been here a while, before the war even began." Peter was just the kind of person who saw what everyone else wouldn't dream of looking for. It made him a good spy. Out here in the real world Hogan had no idea what it made the Englishman. "I'm not saying Peter isn't over reacting but it wouldn't hurt to give him the benefit of a doubt."

"I don't remember it being here." Carter surrendered. "I wonder if we brought it with us."

()

Sheriff Taylor wasn't in his office. It was just as well. Newkirk had no idea what he was going to tell him. His absurdly slender Deputy was sitting at the Sheriff's desks. Peter fought a sigh. Barney Fife was a nice guy, a lot like a very skinny Sgt. Schultz but as the analogy alluded...

"Deputy?" He fought his accent. Barney had no ability to understand cockney. He managed a middle-class Londoner. "Is the Sheriff around?"

"No Andy had to go up to Mt. Pilot. I'm sure I can be assistance." He was too. Peter could tell, he just disagreed.

"No. that alright."

"Now see here! There is nothing that Andy is capable of that I'm not."

It was a phenomenally bad idea. It wouldn't be until later that he discovered just how bad of an idea it was. However looking back on the rest of his day he figured he didn't have anything to loose.

End of Part Two

_"I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, _

_neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, _

_nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all."_

_Ecclesiastes 9:11_


	3. Chapter 3

I promised you some excitement and I've done my best to deliver. It's a little shorter than the last two updates because I'm still puzzling over what happens next. I thought it was only fair to give you what I have instead of making you wait for what I will.

cyllwen

Cost of War: Part Three

"Life goes on within you and without you"

The Beatles

()

_Orders to evacuate, written in Kinch's thick no-nonsense script (the ink made from soot). This time there was no getting around it. The Allies were close and the Germans were getting antsy. Klink had received orders to execute the prisons. He had so far ignored them, probably because the Allies were closer than the German troops. London wasn't taking any chances._

_Barracks Two was celebrating but Peter felt oddly distant from the festivities. They weren't out of danger yet. More than twenty four underground units lay waiting for just under eight hundred POWs. The distance between camp and safety was still great and there were a lot of things that could go wrong on the road._

_He accepted a tin mug full of what they generously called wine. This particular batch was made almost exclusively with wild tart berries and too little honey to sweeten them. After the war he planned on marketing the stuff as a nail varnish remover. However after over four years in Germany it wasn't nearly enough to get a decent glow. For him that was, for the some of the others..._

_"Carter! Go get some water!" Hogan ordered. The Guv'ner was mostly angry at London. He had been ordered out with the first group to leave. Aesop and Grimm had both agreed that Hogan was to important to lose if anything had gone wrong. He'd been steaming in the corner the whole 'party._

_Peter would have been over there with him, only he had gotten in trouble for suggesting that perhaps London was right in this case. Sometimes Hogan reminded him a little too much of his father. (Though he was immeasurably more fond of Hogan than he ever was of his father.)_

_*I think we are going out together Pierre.* Louis tipsily forgot English._

_It didn't matter. French came to him almost as easily as German. "Well we came in together so it seems only right."_

_*True. So True*_

_Peter relieved him of his mug of wine. "I think you've had enough celebrating LeBeau."_

That night faded into the all too familiar sensation of ropes on wrists and a pounding headache. A groan escaped his lips, unbidden and irretrievable. He was in a car, he could tell from the motion (as well as the beginning of motion sickness). The lack of light and cramped space led him to presume he was in the trunk. What the hell had happened? Everything after leaving Andrew's shop (and some of what happened before) was a blur and a very painful one at that. He wondered if he still had the General's watch.

He tasted blood and his good arm (of all things) ached. None of the revelations were helping him much. "This can't possibly be good." He mumbled to himself.

"I agree." A high nasally voice responded far to close to his ear.

"Deputy Fife?" What was he doing in a trunk with Andrew's cousin? (This had to be the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him.)

"Call me Barney. Are you alright?"

"No idea. What 'appened?"

"What what?"

"What! Happened!" He ground out the h. The sound of his own voice reverberated though his skull and much to his chagrin he couldn't fight back a whimper.

"Shh." Barney tried to sound soothing. Peter didn't really blame him for failing. A lot of people didn't have the skill of comforting people when you are tied up and thrown in a trunk with them. "They hit you pretty hard, you know after they shot you." He sounded guilty.

Blimey if the part of the day he didn't remember was on par with the last five minutes, it couldn't get worse if it tried. "Who exactly shot me?"

"What do you remember?"

Peter tried to think. "Clark Bars. Andrew was upset about something. The guv kept giving me funny looks."

"Whats a guv?"

He didn't get an answer because just then they hit a bump and Newkirk lost consciousness again.

_It wasn't far to Webber's farm, ten and a half miles. However at the rate they were going they weren't going to make it alive. Ryans, Monroe and Porter had come with Newkirk and LeBeau. None of the three had yet to see their twenty-fifth birthday and beside the veteran spies they were skittish, half drunk on terror and fresh air. They were also incapable of so much as breathing quietly. LeBeau was starting to have problems keeping up with the pace the younger men had set and nothing Newkirk did convinced them to slow down. Freedom was on their minds and it was getting in the way of everything else._

_They ran straight into the patrol. German and English shouts ran out together. There was no time to find cover and no place to run. He didn't remember the sound of the shot that hit him, not really. He remembered a loud noise, shapeless and then pain. He tumbled backwards down the incline he had just come up; splashing into the stream. This time the dream did not end. Three more shots rang out and the n the forest tasted silence for the first time that night, empty but for his own ragged breathing. Winded, terrified and bloody he lay on the forest floor._

()

"Your father tried to hide it from me." Mama would have said gently but her youngest's hearing wasn't exactly sharp as it was when he had left home. Her words were loud enough for Hogan to hear them in the living room. "But I knew that you weren't on a base. You never could lie to me, not even in a letter. I didn't bring it up because he spent so much effort covering it all up. He used to change the address on the packages we sent you in the car before he got to the post office. That man was so worried about my health, God bless his soul. He tried to take both of our burdens to the grave. No, no, don't any anything. Let me talk. Oh look at you. You've aged ten years in the three you've been gone. Family, Andrew, is for sharing burdens and your family now goes beyond me, your brothers and your sister."

Dinner with the Taylors had been called due to Peter and Barney's disappearance that afternoon and the discovery of a trussed up Gomer Pyle in the cleaning closet of the gas station. Apparently Peter had shared his suspicions with the Deputy, who attempted to handle the situation in an over-exuberant manner despite Peter's and even Gomer's suggestion that he wait for the Sheriff. The mechanic wasn't too clear on what happened after that. He had tried to escape and fallen down three stairs onto his head.

Mama was now nervously cooking just about everything in the pantry and having a heart to heart with Andrew. Hogan was stuck in the living room with her middle child, Henry, who lived across town. Henry, a scholar of some kind, hiccuped when he got nervous. Upset Generals cursing in German made him nervous. Hiccuping nervous wrecks made Hogan annoyed. This just served to make Henry even more nervous. Hogan wasn't sure just how (or if) the man was breathing.

He was trying to come to grips with the fact (spelled out by half a dozen people) that there was nothing he could do. Sheriff Taylor was working on finding Peter and his Deputy and he seemed to be a competent yet compassionate individual. Personally Hogan didn't care if he was a bloodhound, he didn't like leaving the fate of one of his men to a stranger. He leaned forward, sighed and (just because he couldn't help himself) said "Boo." If they wondered what the screeching noise was in the kitchen neither Mama nor Andrew came to find out.

()

*We should have gotten our own car.* Louis LeBeau complained to James Kinchloa aka Kinch who was driving.

*He's going the same place we are. He's going to see one of the same people we are. It made sense to share a car.*

*I don't like him.* Louis took a long pull from the bottle of wine in his lap. The Frenchman hadn't stopped drinking since they left London. Kinch was the exact opposite. He hadn't touched a drop since they left camp. Freedom was too lovely a thing to dull.

*You will get over it.* Kinch growled to his traveling companion. He liked the Frenchman, he really did but Louis and long car rides did not mix. He turned his attention to the man they made met up with at the airport. "So Mr. Ferguson how long have you known Newkirk?"

Ferguson was a British man, late fifties with a perfect 'BBC' accent and salt and pepper hair. His blue-green eyes were disturbingly familiar. "Since he was fifteen." He was reserved but pleasant enough.

Kinch knew why Louis disliked him so much. He was a lot like the voice over the radio, too perfectly British to be real. "I'm sure he'll be pleased to see you."

"Oh I doubt that. Peter is very seldom pleased to see me."

"Why is that?"

"Some rubbish his mother filled his head with no doubt. She was also so headstrong."'

"Excusez-moi Monsieur, What exactly is your relationship with Pierre?"

"I'm his father."

Kinch focused on not wrecking the car. Louis focused on being absolute bewildered. They made a good team.

()

_Hogan, an Army General that he never saw again and Heidi (the German Sheppard) found them an eternity after. The Colonel had gone looking for the allied troops instead of unit four. _

_A lot of the groups had taken a dog with them under the guise of making it difficult for the camp guards to follow them. (The understood reason was that they were just too attached to leave them behind.) Olsen's group had wanted to take Schultz with them._

_Peter was always of the mind that Heidi was the one who had saved them since she was the one who jumped out of the truck and come to find them. He never mentioned it because he believed that it would hurt the guv'ner's feelings. _

_The last thing he remembered clearly was the Colonel's face. He had never seen Hogan look so lost. He wanted to apologize. Then LeBeau spectacularly fainted dead away. He tried to laugh but it was too hard to breath. Poor Louis._

"Wake up!" Replace the shout with an Atchung and he could have been back in Germany. He knew that wasn't the case: the dream was over. There was a soft light, a full moon and a blanket of stars. He blinked. "If you wanted me awake you shouldn't have coshed me over the 'ead." There was a slur to his speech that concerned him.

Barney was already out of the trunk (it had to be a large trunk...or they were in a hearse). He tried in his own awkward manner to help him out of the trunk (though it felt like he was trying to kill him). There wasn't really a good arm to grab. His bad arm was sore from being bounced about in a trunk and his good arm had a hole in the bicep, apparently bandaged with a handkerchief (an unused one he hoped). It took a moment but they got him into a semi-standing position. His legs had gone to sleep. Barney held him up as best he could.

"Fix the car." A short man, no taller than Louis, ordered in a rough voice. He held a small pistol.

"What 'appened to the car?" He looked at the car, a dark station dodge. "Why do you have Mrs. Murch's car? It breaks down more than a three legged hag."

"Just fix it."

"I don't know whats wrong with it. You can't just point at a car and yell 'fix it'!" Of course it probably wasn't a good idea to yell that people who have already shot and hit him over the head but then again it wasn't his job to come up with plans that worked. It was his job to point out why plans wouldn't work. Hogan's job was to come up with plans that worked. Too bad he wasn't here.

()

End of Part Three

'I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!'"  
- Lewis Carroll


	4. Chapter 4

So I finally worked up the courage to work on this again. Its been a really hard and yet wonderful time since I last gave you guys anything for this. I am sorry but school and trying to find a job had to come before fanfiction. I hope you all enjoy and that I didn't mess up my grammar too much.

Part Four

I open, Newly woken eyes  
I see, White walls covered in stains  
I hear, Slamming cupboards, muffled curses  
It's a new day, I close my eyes  
and wish for dreams  
My alarm clock screams  
'Good Morning'

-Cyllwen

()

He blinked a few times but the wavering muzzle of the gun didn't disappear. He half-wished he could slide back into some sort of unconsciousness and let this all sort out without any effort on his part. His captor, at least the one he could see, was a young man without a single Aryan trait to his face. His face was darkened by years of laboring in the sun.

"Hey don't you think you've waved that gun around enough!" Barney's high and nasal voice shot for brave and almost made it. He didn't tremble so much as he vibrated. "You two are in a lot of trouble you know!"

Oh yes there was two of them weren't there? That made this whole thing that much harder to survive. "Fife." Peter kept his voice low. The gun was wandering too far in the deputy's direction for comfort and the man had the self-preservation instincts of a few vegetables Peter had encountered. On the road ahead of them the head lights of another car came around the bend. He turned his attention back towards the kid with the gun. "Maybe you should put the gun where the other motorists can't see it." He offered in a friendly tone. He tried to ignore the headache that the lights were aggravating. "You two are new to this kind of thing aren't you?"

"Shut up." 'Gun' growled but took his advice slipping the gun inside of his jacket pocket. Barney visibly relaxed, all but slumping against the side of the car. Peter pushed himself away from his leaning spot with his 'bad' arm. The other car slowed down when the driver noticed the men standing at the side of the road.

Peter found a cigarette and a box of matches in his back pocket. There weren't his which must have meant he stole them from the guv'ner. He watched the other car, his hands performing the all too familiar ritual of lighting the cigarette. The smoke glowed in the bright moon light. It was an expensive car painted a near neon green. It stopped and the driver rolled down his window.

"You fellows need a hand?" The rich deep voice of James Kinchloe almost caused Peter to laugh out loud. He would know the sound anywhere. Instead he took a long drag on his cigarette and exhaled slowly sending a long stream of smoke out of mouth like an untouchable snake.

"You good with cars?" 'Gun' managed to sound as calm as Barney had brave. He swallowed several times and pasted a sickly looking smile that aged his face twenty years.

Peter took another long draw on the cigarette. His former co-spy had apparently yet to notice him and he wasn't sure what to do with this new development. He wasn't even sure what Kinch was doing in the country. He was supposed to be in France with Louis for another few months. Perhaps things were finally looking up.

()

To say that James Kinchloe was surprised to see Peter Newkirk by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere was more than accurate, especially when he looked like hell. His hair was a tad too long and mussed like he had not seen a comb in a week. His jumper was torn and a white cloth was tied around one bicep. He smoked long and lazy streams of smoke: a sure sign that he was deep in thought. The whole thing screamed 'bad'.

Peter did not seem to notice his presence, only a slight tilt of his head gave him away. All four men were trying to act casual. Newkirk was the only actor among them and even he seemed a little tattered around the edges. Another man a few steps away from him, tall and lanky, was nearly hyperventilating.

"Good enough." Truth was he could fix cars just about as well as he could break them. "Know" was more than an understatement. "He alright?" He gestured towards Peter. Peter turned so that he had a good look at his face, the first obvious sign that he even knew that Kinch was there.

The man closest to Peter was slight in stature. His hand was firmly entrenched in his right jacket pocket. He was defiantly armed and nervous. "Oh yah. He just fell down a hill."

"Onto some sharp rocks?"

Peter could not fight back a snort. There was another man behind the car. He was older than the first, taller and broader as well but not by very much. Their features echoed each other. They were brothers, Kinch was sure of it, and only a few years apart. "Something like that." He growled. Neither of them seemed to be particularly used to any form of Malefaction but apparently were good enough (or lucky enough) to get the drop on Peter (for whatever reason) and what appeared to be a policeman. Granted a policeman who looked like he was about to faint at any moment.

"Well I'll see what I can do." Kinch plastered a smile onto his face and got out of the car. He slammed the door hard. Louis, who he was hoping to wake, did not even stir. It was Ferguson who poked his head out of the back seat with a sleepy glare and an undisguised yawn. "Found some people whose car broke down. I'm going to have a look." The older man just blinked at him and nodded disappearing again into the dark of the back of the car.

The night was cool and bright enough to make him feel exposed. "Hey!" He called to Peter. "Got one of those to spare?" He gestured to Peter's cigarette. "My friends won't let me smoke in the car."

Peter produced one, seemingly out of thin air, with one quick motion. "The car is a piece of junk. I don't know 'ow its been working this long. Looks like its been through a war."

Kinch didn't respond as he popped the hood. The innards of the car was a tangled mess of wires and old hoses. Everything seemed to be jury-rigged rather than fixed. Peter looked over his shoulder and whistled. One of the brothers came up on the other side of the Englander with a gruff "Do you think you can fix it?" The voice, perfectly American, was of a tone more suited to a Gestapo agent than a young man in his mid 20s.

Peter blew another stream of smoke, long and steady and then a second. Kinch did his best to look thoughtful as he randomly poked around the innards of the car. He didn't like working without a script. That sort of thing always fell to Carter or Peter. "No. I don't think this thing should have gotten you this far. Can we give you a ride back down to town? You can probably hire a taxi in the morning."

Panic was instantaneous with both brothers. The one with the gun scrambled for Barney grabbing the much slighter man around the neck and pressing the gun to his head. The other grabbed Peter by the arm and placed a switchblade up to his throat. The sudden jarring in Peter's head and a flaring of the pain in his arm almost send him into a faint.

"Sorry friend. I'm afraid we are going to have to take your car and carry on our way." The brother with the gun snared and tightened his grip on Barney who emitted a frightened shriek. "You!" He shouted at Kinch. "Get our bags out of the back of the car and put them in your back seat."

()

Louis woke up to shouting and Ferguson nervously shaking him. "Lâchez-moi! Je veux dormir."He grumbled at their passenger as he tried to shove down the terrible hangover he could feel developing.

"Wake up little frenchman." It was obvious that the other man had never bothered to remember Louis' name. "Something is going on." Ferguson sounded very shaken so Louis sat up and looked out the window mumbling to himself.

"Que peut-il ...?" Outside there seemed to be a commotion involving hostages of all things! Two men, one by the hood of the car and another on the side of the car closes to Louis held another two men in a threatening manner and at least one had a gun. Instinctively he flattened himself down so that no one should be able to see him from outside the car. "Douce Mère de Dieu!"

"Peter." Ferguson whispered gently. He sounded like he was in shock. "One of those men has Peter." His tone was different when he said his son's first name than when he said any other word in the language known as English. This was not snooty or arrogant. This tone was much more human than Louis had thought possible from the high class 'better than you' buisness man he had been sharing a car with.

"Pierre? Why would Pierre be out on the montagne in the middle of the night?"

"Being 'eld 'ostage apparently!" The slip into cockney made the Frenchman wonder exactly what sort of man Ferguson had been before he had stuffed himself inside the perfect suit and accent. He spared a second to look surprised at just how much he sounded like Newkirk, before slipping into the back seat with the other man.

"Restez calme. If it really is Pierre he will be alright. Kinch will see to that. Not that Pierre cannot care for himself." Louis started rummaging through his luggage looking for anything they could use to help tip the balance of the situation into the favor of Kinch and the two hostages. "Restez calme." He whispered, this time to himself.

()

Every man's life ends the same way.

It is only the details of how he live and

how he died that distinguish one man from another.

Ernest Hemingway


	5. Chapter 5

Hi guys, sorry if this needs more review. I didn't have the energy to beta it much tonight. However I wanted to get it up for you. Hope its ok.

Cyllwen

Part Five

Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family.

Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one.

~Jane Howard

()

_**Ein.**_

Peter drew in a deep breath and stiffened at the treatment and pain. He held it until his head cleared enough for coherent thought.

The wind picked up, it howled and whipped up dust and small pebbles. They knocked against his shoes. The whole thing was like something out of a radio show. Despite his situation and the awkward position of being held tightly with a knife he decided to take one last drag off the dying cigarette before it went to waste, turning to dust in his hand.

_**Zwei.**_

The tip of it glowed like a dying ember in a fire for one long second and then faded to almost nothingness. His brain searched for answers. He wondered for a moment why Hogan was never there anymore when his life required last moment, "so crazy they shouldn't work but somehow do plans." They needed a way out of their predicament, and fast.

_**Drei.**_

This wasn't his job. He wasn't supposed to be responsible for other people. Barney Fife was even crazier than those kids he was leading home, so long ago, across the wet German landscape. Ryans. Monroe. Porter. He exhaled, a long stream of smoke. _It wasn't far to Webber's farm, ten and a half miles. However at the rate they were going they weren't going to make it alive. Ryans, Monroe and Porter had come with Newkirk and LeBeau. None of the three had yet to see their twenty-fifth birthday and beside the veteran spies they were skittish, half drunk on terror and fresh air._

_**Vier.**_

He shook off the memory and stabbed the hot butt of his cigarette into the hand holding the knife against his throat. The big guy yelped. Peter felt a stinging sensation on his neck but it was slight enough to be only a glancing wound. He twisted away and struck out with his elbow, catching his captor in the gut. With the other arm he deftly grabbed the knife and then backed up quickly to where Kinch was standing.

_**Fünf**_

Barney passed out cold, sliding out of the arms of the small man and landing with a thud onto the dusty covered ground. The gunman gave him up as a lost cause and re-aimed the gun at Peter and Kinch.

"You alright Thomas?" He called out to his brother. Thomas groaned in reply, and attempted to straighten himself. He only partially succeeded. He limped backwards to his brother's side, nursing the burn on his hand. His eyes were filled with deep loathing, his gaze fastened on Peter. "That was a real good try, boy." The little man motioned Peter forwards with the barrel of the gun. "But unfortunately it doesn't change nothing. We are taking the other car and you and the sissy boy are coming with us until we are safe. Now hands on your head." He turned to his brother. "Get the bags Thomas. You can get even with the brit later."

Thomas, unwisely, obeyed moving between his brother and the people he was holding the gun on. The little man protested, yelling at his brother to get out of his way. His protested were cut short with a loud crack and he crumbled to the ground. Thomas turned to check on his brother and Kinch rushed forward to tackle him in the confusion. Peter's eyes, blurred by the concussion and the fatigue sweeping through him took a moment to focus on what was going on. Kinch was on the ground on top of bad guy #1 while bad guy #2 was crumpled on the ground while a very familiar man stood over him with a shattered wine bottle.

Kinch looked up and chastised the man. "Mr. Ferguson what are you doing out of the car?"

Peter swallowed hard and stared. The older man stared at him with eyes that held panic and slight hysteria over what he had just done and full blown confusion on what to do now. Right by his side Louis hung tightly to another bottle, swaying in a way that only drunk Frenchman could, sobered just enough by terror to be moving. He licked his lips repeatedly and muttered to himself "Ce n'était pas si dur." and then to the frightened man by his side "See, I told you it would be ok."

"W'at in the bloody blazes..." Peter whispered in confusion. He had not seen his father in over seven years.

"Peter." Ferguson waved weakly at him.

"Pierre?" Louis remember his presence and dropped the bottle. "Qu'ont-ils fait pour vous?" He rushed forward and began to fuss. His frenzied examination of every wound caused Peter to hiss in pain and try to shoo him away. Fresh blood ran from the cut on his throat and thudd, Louis fainted dead away.

Peter, completely unsure of what to do, unaware if he was dreaming or awake, began to laugh.

()

_They had all gotten split up during the evacuation. The Allies were coming. The war was all but over. The dying screams of Hitler's dream of a new world were scattered all over Germany. The orders were not to risk a cleansing of the camp. Too many German commanders had turned to their prisoners to quench their frustration at being on the loosing side of the war. No one believed that Klink would do such a thing but it was something that none of the brass wanted to chance. The camp scattered, orderly at first, in all directions with Barracks Two going last. Hogan ended up with Kinch. Carter was with Olsen. Newkirk was with LeBeau. Each of them took a few of the other soldiers. Newkirk and LeBeau ended up with three who were barely out of their teens. _

_Their names were John Porter of the RAF, Smith Monroe of the US Air Force and Jeffrey Ryans of the US Airforce. None of them had been in Stalag 13 for more than a year and beside the veteran spies they were skittish, half drunk on terror and fresh air. They were also incapable of so much as breathing quietly. They refused to follow Newkirk's lead and set a pace that LeBeau had a very hard time following. Peter found himself falling back to try to keep track of his friend and still close enough to the others that he could keep an eye on them. Freedom was on the young men's minds and it was getting in the way of everything else. _

_They ran straight into the patrol. German and English shouts ran out together. There was no time to find cover and no place to run. Newkirk ran forward in the irrational hope that he could help the boys but he was too late. Three shots rang out and the shouting stopped. They were dead before he even got into the clearing. The German's grinned at him with glee. He rolled down the hill, a ragged hole in his shoulder. The Germans left him there to bleed, laughing and singing through the night. _

_LeBeau found him when their voices had faded. He had taken refuge in some bushes when the shooting had started. It took all of his might to pull Peter into the cover of a few trees with low lying branches. It was all Peter could do as they huddled there hoping for rescue, to keep Louis from hyperventilating or passing out from the blood that covered Peter's back and side. Winded, bloody and in more pain that he could ever remember being in, he managed to gasp out a french lullaby._

It was the clearest he had ever remembered that night, lying half conscious against that car. He laughed bitterly to himself as it looped back on itself, playing again against the blueness of his father's eyes.

()

Did you ever wonder if the person in the puddle is real,

and you're just a reflection of him? ~Calvin and Hobbes


End file.
